‘How do you mean?’
‘Well . . . take me. If I were a struggling actor, or an assistant, nobody in the industry would talk to me. That’s fine because they’re industry people, but what I don’t like is the way it affects my personal life.’
‘You mean, the way you work all the time?’
‘No. Well, yes, that too, definitely. What I mean is – OK, I’ll tell you a story. Not long after I started signing my own clients, I met a girl at a party thrown by some friends of mine. We went home together . . . and the next day, she emailed me her résumé and a head shot.’ He takes a drag of his cigarette. ‘The irony was, I really liked her, and I definitely would have helped her if she’d just asked me. I just found it so sad that that was what she thought she had to do. Most of the guys I work with, that stuff doesn’t bother them at all. They see it as a perk. Me, not so much.’
There’s a pause, while he takes the tumbler back from me.
‘Maybe you could just not date actresses,’ I suggest.
‘I don’t, but the thing is, it’s just an example of how people think there. Even my ex was like that, and she’s not an actress.’
His ex. OK, so that sounds as if he’s definitely single. Not that I’m interested, of course, but – anyway, he’s single.
‘I feel like it’s turning me into someone I don’t want to be. Jesus, Alice, how do you do this?’ he asks suddenly.
‘Do what?’
‘Get people’s life stories from them. Next I’ll be giving you my social security number and telling you all about my first kiss. No wonder you’ve got Luther eating out of your hand.’
‘Oh.’ I’m distracted by the mention of his first kiss. ‘Sorry, I hadn’t realised I was doing it. Just habit, I suppose. What I think is . . .’
‘What?’
He’s looking at me, and it’s an expression I haven’t seen in a long time, maybe ever. It’s the look of someone – OK, a man – who’s really enjoying this conversation, and is waiting to hear what I’m going to say next. And I don’t think it’s just because we’re talking about him.
‘I was just going to say: of course what you do affects people’s perception of you. Because it reflects who you are, and the fact that you’re intelligent, and you’ve worked hard, and you’ve made good decisions. I don’t see what’s so wrong about that. But if your job is all they care about, then yes, that would be bad. Does that make sense?’
‘Sure.’
‘But . . . I don’t think you’re genuinely unhappy about it. Or about the fact that you have to work a hundred hours a week.’
‘No?’ He looks even more fascinated, and amused at the same time.
‘No. I hear people – friends who work in the City, or in lots of different industries – complain about that kind of thing all the time, but they don’t change it. Because although they complain, that’s how they like it.’
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and I wonder if I’ve completely overstepped the mark. I can’t see his face in the dark. But then he turns to me and I see he’s grinning broadly.
‘Wow. I have to hand it to you, Alice. That is the best gauntlet throw I think I’ve ever been given in my entire life. I’ve poured out my misunderstood agent angst to you, and you’ve summed it up in five words: Put up, or shut up. No, I like it,’ he says, as I start to protest, laughing, that that wasn’t what I meant. ‘I really like it. And I want you to know, I’m going to give it some serious thought.’
He really does have a nice smile. It lights up his whole face.
He gets to his feet. ‘Shall we shelve the soul-searching? Do you feel like a dip instead?’
‘Why not.’
Sam takes off his jeans – he’s wearing his swimmers underneath, like me. I slip off my nightdress, and we wade in. The water is wonderful. The craziness of the last few days seems very far away, and we’re just two people on holiday, having a swim on a hot night. I watch as he swims the length of the pool underwater. I hope he’s not too drunk to be swimming like that. He seems sober enough, but I think he has had a lot to drink. Still, I would happily administer the kiss of life.
Oh, shit.
During this entire trip, I’ve noticed, good news has immediately been followed by bad news. The good news is that I don’t think Sam is going to interfere with the book any more. The bad news is that my crush on Luther has been replaced by an attraction to Sam – a real one.
He surfaces beside me.
‘Have you ever seen the movie Le Grand Bleu?’ he says. ‘The Big Blue? It’s pretty lame, but it has a great soundtrack by Eric Serra. It always reminds me of swimming at night. I was just listening to it before you came outside. You want to hear some?’
‘I – OK,’ I say. I should go, but I don’t want to be rude when he’s sharing his music. I’ll just stay a minute longer.
He hoists himself out of the pool in an easy movement, and goes to get his iPod, drying his hands on his jeans first. How could I ever have thought he looked bland or identikit? He is so beautiful; I can’t take my eyes off him. He comes back into the water and hands me the iPod, but I shake my head.
‘Wet hands.’
He looks at me for a second, then he carefully fits the earphones into my ears, pushing my hair back gently. As soon as he touches me, I can feel my heart start to pound. I’m inches from his bare chest; in fact, I could lean forward and touch it right now. I’ve never been this close to him before – no, I have, when he saved me from drowning, when I wasn’t drowning.
He reaches past me, and starts the music. It’s beautiful. It sounds so mysterious – like being deep under the sea. He’s still standing very close to me, looking down at me. I’m trying not to look at him, so I’m looking past him instead at the stars or down at our waists, close to each other in the pool. But I’m getting a feeling from him. It’s that feeling that tells you someone is about to kiss you. I cautiously look up and meet his eyes, just for a minute, but it’s enough; I’m completely overwhelmed, and I start to shiver.
‘Hey,’ he says, turning the music down. ‘You’re not getting cold, are you?’ He puts a hand to the side of my face, and takes the earphones out.
‘No. Well, maybe just a little. I think I’d better go to bed.’
But it’s too late for that; he’s still holding my face, my palm has strayed on to his chest, and now he’s leaned down and kissed me, so gently but so firmly that I almost expire: it is the perfect kiss.
I kiss him back. He is a wonderful kisser, his mouth just as soft as I would have imagined, tender but very confident, and soon we’re kissing harder. His hands are in my hair and then on my shoulders and my waist, and I’m running my hands down his arms and his back and his chest. His body is rock hard: I can feel how strong he is. I am drowning in the feel of his lips on mine, his hands on my skin. Simultaneously, there is a part of my brain that’s saying, Is this a good idea? But it’s pretty muffled.
After a minute, we stop for breath. He’s leaning his chin near the top of my head. I hear him inhale, and I know he’s about to say something. Please don’t let it be We should stop. Instead he says one word, hoarsely, into my ear, and it’s ‘Wow.’
‘I know.’ I bury my head in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his skin.
‘This is definitely the highlight of my evening.’
‘Mine too,’ I say, close to his ear, and then I start kissing the ear.
He starts kissing my neck, down towards my collarbone, and then my shoulder. Now he’s kissing my bikini strap – not just the skin beneath it, but the actual strap. My arms are around his neck while I hook one leg around his. Then he sinks underwater, and kneels in front of me, holding my thighs and kissing my stomach, then moving lower . . . Suddenly I feel a bit self-conscious, and I pull him up.
‘Hey. I was enjoying myself.’
I lean forward and kiss his chest. I put my arms around him, letting them travel down towards his shorts, and press him closer until I can hear him gasp. Gently, he eas
es my bikini strap off my shoulder, and starts kissing downwards to the side of my breast. He spends a while there, kissing the curve of it, until I think I’m about to die, melt or explode, depending on what he does next.
‘Alice,’ he says in my ear. It sounds as if it’s taking him all his strength to say it.
‘Yes?’
‘If you want me to stop, please tell me now.’
‘No,’ I say, close to his ear. ‘I don’t want to stop.’
He puts his arm around me, and holds me even tighter.
‘Let’s go inside,’ he says. And – I can’t quite believe he’s doing this, but he is – he scoops me up and carries me up the wading steps, out of the pool, only depositing me to pick up his jeans and my nightdress. Our progress inside is impeded by the fact that we’re stopping to kiss each other every few seconds. We tiptoe into his room, closing the door as quietly as possible because, let’s face it, the worst possible thing would be for someone – i.e., Luther – to hear us right now.
Once we’re inside, he knocks a pile of scripts and papers off his bed and pushes me down on it, climbing on top of me and kissing me again, while I run my fingers through his hair and down his back. We’re both still wet from the pool, but it’s so hot it doesn’t matter. Not that I’d care if it was twenty degrees below zero. I have never been so turned on in my life. It’s as if I don’t have to think and rules don’t apply. I feel completely relaxed and uninhibited, soaking in all the different sensations: his hand on my thigh, his hair and skin under my fingers, his lips on my neck, on my shoulder, on my breasts . . .
I haven’t slept with very many people, and when I have it’s often been awkward and forgettable. This is a completely different experience in every way. It’s not just that he’s so incredibly unselfish, or that he doesn’t rush me, or that he’s so gorgeous and he keeps telling me I am as well. It’s not just that he’s confident enough to ask me what I want, but doesn’t have to ask all the time. It’s that, seeing him lose himself so completely in me, I feel that he wants me just as much as I want him; it’s totally equal. I don’t think I’ve ever had that before.
TWENTY-FIVE
There’s light coming in through the window. I’m lying with my back to Sam, and both his arms are wrapped around me. My hair still feels damp, but the sheets are mainly dry. Which means last night was real, and not a drunken dream. I am in bed with Sam. Luther’s agent, Sam. What the hell have I done? I’m already regretting it: he’s definitely going to regret it. I begin to edge out of the bed, wondering if I can just slip out and pretend it never happened.
‘Are you awake?’ he says softly. He kisses the back of my neck, and I’m relieved. Whatever else happens . . . I’m glad he still seems to like me.
‘Um, yes,’ I whisper.
‘So am I,’ he whispers back. He unwinds his arms slowly and checks the time. ‘Good. It’s early.’
‘I should go,’ I mutter, but he pulls me in close again and kisses me. As soon as he does that, I’m completely undone: I can’t do anything but kiss him back. As he wraps himself tighter around me I can feel that yes, he really is awake . . .
There’s a noise. Someone is knocking at the door.
‘Hey, man, you there?’ Shit! It’s Luther!
Sam is gesturing for me to get under the covers, but I’m going one better; I roll off the bed, grabbing a sheet with me, and roll right under it. And just in time, because Luther, who doesn’t stand on ceremony, has opened the door and come inside. From where I’m lying, I can just see his feet in the sandals he was wearing the other day. Oh my good God. What is he doing? Did he hear us? What if he sees me?
‘Hey, man,’ Sam says, sleepily. ‘You’re up early.’ He sounds totally relaxed. How is he doing that?
‘Yeah,’ Luther says. His feet pace over to the other side of the room and I frantically inch my feet back. Suddenly I see my nightdress, in a pile with Sam’s clothes, right by Luther’s feet. My bikini is hidden, but you can definitely see my nightdress. Oh, no! No!
‘Have you seen Alice?’ I hear Luther asking. ‘She’s not in her room.’
‘Sure, she’s stashed in my closet,’ Sam says. ‘No, of course I haven’t seen her. Maybe she’s asleep. It’s early.’
‘No, she’s not in her room. I looked.’
You cheeky bastard! I think.
‘I don’t know, man. Maybe she’s in the pool? Or went for a walk?’
‘I’ll go take a look. I want to do an interview.’ He sounds preoccupied, and he doesn’t make any immediate move to go.
I’m feeling incredibly cramped, and the floor is stone cold where my sheet has left gaps. I focus on a small dust ball a few inches from my nose, trying to keep my breathing quiet. I hope I don’t sneeze. Oh, God, please let him leave. Just get him out of here and I’ll never do anything stupid again. Ever.
‘OK, well, I hope you find her,’ says Sam. I can feel the bed shifting above me. ‘Mind if I get some more sleep?’ He yawns.
Luther doesn’t say anything, but slowly the sandals turn and walk out. I let out a long, silent breath and count to ten, watching the door, just in case he decides to come back. I imagine Sam is doing the same thing, because he doesn’t say anything. When the coast seems clear, I slowly emerge from under the bed, clutching my sheet. To my disgust, Sam starts laughing.
‘What is so funny?’ I hiss. ‘That was horrific.’
‘I’m sorry, Alice. You just looked so spooked – and the way you scooted under the bed – it was like something out of a French farce.’ He holds out his arms, trying to take me in them. ‘I didn’t mean to laugh at you. I know you must’ve been freaked out. You look very cute in that sheet, by the way.’ He puts his hand to my face and pulls me towards him to kiss me. But I can’t kiss him back; I’m still too shaken.
‘Sam, do you know what would have happened if he’d caught me here? He would have been furious! He would’ve fired us both!’
Sam sighs and lets me go. ‘Maybe. But he didn’t, so . . .’
‘I’m serious! We’re just lucky he decided to knock. Imagine if he’d –’ I can’t even say the words ‘walked in on us’. How the hell would I explain that one to Luther – or, God forbid, Olivia? I wouldn’t just be given the boot; I would be hung, drawn and quartered. ‘Sam, I think this was a mistake. We should never have done this. If Luther found out . . .’
‘It’s none of his business.’
‘Well, it is, isn’t it? I mean, I’m his editor, you’re his agent – isn’t it a little – unprofessional?’
I can see him flinch slightly at that. But then he leans back and looks at me.
‘Is that what you really think? Or do you just not want to be here?’ he asks.
I’m about to reply when there’s the sound of footsteps going past us in the corridor. It sounds like Luther again. We both freeze, and I crouch down, preparing to duck back under the bed if necessary. But then they go past, leaving me limp with relief and delayed terror.
I get up, still clutching my sheet. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Alice,’ Sam says in a low voice. ‘Come on. I understand your concern, but can we just talk about this for a second?’
I shake my head. He’s about to say something, but then he stops, and just reaches out to grab my nightdress from the floor and hand it to me. I don’t want to drop my sheet to get dressed. He seems to get the message and looks away, while I pull the nightdress on awkwardly. I get up and walk over to the door.
‘Wait,’ says Sam.
I turn around expectantly, but all he says is, ‘I’ll check the corridor.’ He gets out of bed – now he’s got a sheet around him – opens the door and glances out, then closes it.
‘All clear.’
‘Thanks.’ I slip out, avoiding his eye.
TWENTY-SIX
I run myself a cool shower, and shiver under it while I give myself a firm talking-to. What was I thinking? Do I actually want to be fired? I’m in enough trouble as it is. If Luther had found out, it
would have been a catastrophe. He could easily have heard us, or walked in on us – if he’d been any later, God knows what he would have seen . . .
But that thought just leads me right back to Sam. What he was like. Being so near him, so intimate with him. It was so intense. I wouldn’t have dreamed he’d be so passionate, but, actually, it isn’t surprising at all. My entire body feels like it’s humming or vibrating or something. I can still feel his kiss on my lips, and everywhere else.
I turn the shower water to cold, and start scrubbing myself energetically. Yes, it was – great, but it was still a bad idea. We were both drunk, and I was traumatised from my conversation with Olivia, and I did something incredibly stupid. I should never ever ever have slept with Sam. It was a total error of judgement and it’s never going to happen again.
And if you weren’t working together? a voice says inside me. Would you still feel the same?
I think I would. It’s too much too soon, and also, I feel ashamed now, because I don’t know whether he’s still going to respect me. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I do. But I also meant what I said about it being unprofessional. I don’t know why he reacted the way he did. What did he mean when he said, ‘Do you just not want to be here?’
I go out to meet Luther feeling extremely nervous and convinced that he’ll be able to see what I’ve been up to. I’m relieved to find he seems oblivious, just very depressed. He’s on the back terrace, except that instead of lying in his usual position on the sunlounger, he’s looking at a script with his agency’s logo on it.
‘There you are. I was looking for you,’ he says sadly.
I decide not to make any excuse in case he sees through it. ‘Sorry. Is that the script for the pilot? Is it any good?’ I ask him, sitting down.
‘I don’t know. I’ve been flicking through, but I can’t bring myself to actually read it.’ I’ve never heard him sound so downtrodden.
The Out of Office Girl Page 20